


Starkiller and the Worm

by AwesomeJon



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: New Jedi Order Series - Various Authors, Star Wars Legends: Young Jedi Knights Series - Kevin J. Anderson & Rebecca Moesta
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Metafiction, Pulp, easy on the romance for now, light not in darkness but where you really are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:01:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomeJon/pseuds/AwesomeJon
Summary: It is a time of Crisis for Earth Bet. An unlikely wanderer has woken on a shore far from his home. Cut off from the force, ANAKIN SOLO is not ready to die, yet. He has been through more than anyone his age deserves, and remained resilient — using all aspects of the force as much as his own cunning and impetuous courage.A few hours ago, he was leading a strike team of YOUNG JEDI KNIGHTS to a hidden base, where extragalactic invaders who serve barbaric gods were developing biotechnological BLASPHEMIES against THE FORCE. There, he was struck down.Now, he’s more powerless than he can possibly imagine, slowly waking up, still near death, in BROCKTON BAY. He’s caught the attention of a young girl named TAYLOR HEBERT, with enemies and struggles and fears of her own.As the War In the Stars comes down to earth, Anakin realizes his life is a legend. One Taylor knows very well. Can they help each other find a force within, before it’s too late?The Shaper watches. The Warrior readies himself. The shatterpoint isNOW!
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

_ For the teacher, Matthew Stover _

  
  


**_They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Naturally, they became heroes._ **

**_Former Chief of State Leia Organa-Solo_ **

  
  


_ Another place, another time… _

  
  
  


_ “Take him … and go.” Every word filled Anakin’s belly with fire. He pointed toward the others. “You may need to cut a way out.” _

_ “ ‘You’?” Tahiri said. “I’m not going—” _

_ “Do it!” Anakin snapped. When Tahiri’s face fell, he spoke more gently. “You need … to help Tekli. I’ll be along.” _

_ Tahiri looked doubtful, but could hardly refuse to help. Blinking back a tear, she stretched up to kiss Anakin on the lips—then caught herself and shook her head. “No—for that, you have to come back.” _

_ Anakin gave her his best lopsided smile. “Soon, then.” _

_ “Soon,” Tahiri repeated. “May the Force be with you.” _

_ This second part, she added so quietly that Anakin did not think she meant him to hear it. All too aware of the growing weakness in his legs, he went to the makeshift doorway and peered around the edge. An artillery squad had set up beyond the thorn hedge, their four magma spitters trained on the opening. _

_ When Anakin saw the figure who stepped through, he nearly dropped the detonator. The newcomer’s back was turned, but he wore a tattered jumpsuit and stood a head taller than most humans. He set off for the voxyn pen at a sprint. _

_ “Lowie?” Anakin called, using the Force to make his weak voice carry. _

_ He reached out, but felt only the same hazy Yuuzhan Vong presence as before. The newcomer turned, revealing the profile of a sandy-haired human, and raised an old E-11 blaster rifle. _

_ Anakin was already behind a planting bin, activating his comlink. “Impostor!” he warned. “Trying for pens.” _

_ The blasterfire crescendoed to a deafening roar, as did the Jedi frustration. The firing angles were impossible. A grenade detonated somewhere, and Jaina yelled for a charge. _

_ The door membrane began to roll upward, revealing forty pairs of Yuuzhan Vong feet waiting to rush inside. Anakin opened himself to the Force completely, drawing it into himself through the power of his emotions—not through his anger or fear like a Dark Jedi, but through his love for his family and his fellow Jedi Knights, through his faith in the Jedi purpose and the promise of the future. The Force poured in from all sides, filling him with a swirling maelstrom of power and purpose, saturating him and devouring him. There was nothing to be frightened of, no reason to grieve. He could feel it flowing into him and himself flowing into it. Anakin was the Force, and the Force was Anakin. _

_ Anakin rose. His body emitted a faint aura of light—the glow of his cells burning out—and the air crackled around him. His injuries no longer pained him. He was acutely aware of everything in the grashal—the musty smell of the droning thud bugs, the sultry heat rising from the planting bins, the huffing breath of his fellow Jedi, even the Yuuzhan Vong. Their presence was as distinct to him as that of his own companions, almost as though the Force had somehow expanded to include them. _

_ Firing as he ran, Anakin raced along the rising door. Every bolt blasted a Yuuzhan Vong foot. Muffled roars reverberated through the membrane. Ahead of him, half a dozen warriors dropped and rolled into the grashal. He blasted these before they could rise, then reached the other end and stroked the tickle pad. The door lowered again. _

_ “Hutt breath!” Jaina cursed over the comlink. “She’s escaping.” _

_ Anakin could feel it, too. The voxyn was moving down and away. He activated his own comlink. “The impostor must have opened an escape tunnel.” It no longer hurt to speak, but his aura had gone from faint to bright. His cells were burning like fire. “Jacen, you’re in charge. Take everyone and go after her.” _

_ Jaina’s surprise at not having her own name called carried through the Force like a shout across water, but she stifled any resentment she felt and said, “Can’t get there, Little Brother.” _

_ “The path will clear.” _

_ Anakin slashed the membrane tickle pad and circled toward the empty voxyn pen. He could feel Yuuzhan Vong ahead, crouching behind the last row of planting bins, secure in the knowledge that help was coming. That changed a moment later, when Anakin began to pour blasterfire into their flank. His angle was poor for head shots and his bolts too weak to penetrate vonduun crab armor, but by the time the Yuuzhan Vong realized that, they were being overrun by Jedi. _

_ A plasma ball roared through the grashal door and set fire to a twenty-meter swath of cloning vines. Anakin charged back toward the melted membrane, miniature forks of lightning dancing off his arms and legs, the Force swirling through him like fire, burning more ferociously every moment. He was completely filled with the strength of the light side now; his injured body could hold no more. The energy was burning its way out of him, consuming a vessel too weakened to “Anakin!” Jaina’s cry resembled a scream. _

_ Go! He commanded her through the Force. She’s getting away! _

_ Anakin continued far enough to see where the impostor had come from, a work area near the queen’s pen. Dozens of tendrils lay stretched along a workbench, each ending in a small cloning pod, some open, some closed. It looked like a tissue transfer station. _

_ That was what the impostor had, a cargo pod full of voxyn tissue, enough to clone a million. Anakin’s aura flashed and dimmed, flashed again and dimmed more, his cells rupturing in chain reactions, the cycles coming faster and faster as less of him remained to contain the energy. He felt himself not exactly departing, but melting back into the Force. He pulled his last thermal detonator off his harness and thumbed the timer three clicks. _

_ Go now. _

_ “Anakin, I can’t!” Jaina commed. _

_ Anakin raised the detonator so his brother and sister could see. Thirty seconds. He released the trigger. Take her, Jacen. Kiss Tahiri for me. _

_ With the charging warriors almost on him again, Anakin threw the detonator across the grashal. He wasn’t conscious of using the Force to guide it, but he must have, because it hit the impostor in the head. _

_ Anakin was too busy parrying to see what happened for the next few seconds, but when he finally managed to spring away from his attackers—he was no longer strong enough to flip or cartwheel—the impostor was gathering himself up, rubbing his head and searching for what had struck him. Even from thirty meters, his broken nose and misshapen eye orbit identified him clearly as Nom Anor. _

_ When the executor’s gaze fell on the silver sphere, his real eye grew as large as his plaeryin bol. He reached down. _

_ Anakin used the Force to nudge the sphere away, then caught an amphistaff in the ribs and went down hard, letting his lightsaber fall from his hand. His aura was only a faint glow, flickering between dim and nonexistent. The maelstrom inside was dying away now, flowing back into the Force. _

_ Nom Anor rushed for the detonator again. Anakin waited, waited until the executor was almost on it, then reached out with the Force one last time, rolling the sphere toward the cargo pod. _

_ He did not hear the angry curse that followed, nor did he see Nom Anor fleeing at a dead run. _

_ By then, Anakin was gone. _

_ \-- from Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: Star by Star, by Troy Denning. Published as a fictional work on Earth-Aleph, 2001 _

  
  
  


**_September 21, 2000_ **

**_Los Angeles, Earth Bet_ **

The video plays again and again, on a loop. Netscape Navigator can barely handle it, and neither can the Commodore A65 on George Lucas’s desk. So much has changed since he was making  _ Revenge of the Jedi _ . The hole hasn’t gotten any shallower, and his stories no longer inspire him to climb. 

But the video. A small clip. The last transmission from Hero’s helmet cam. A naked zebra-striped woman dives across the field of view. There’s a gurgling sound. A faint scream. A fire goes out of the universe.

George thinks back. Scion  _ ruined _ things. This is what kids grow up with, now. They trigger, and...he never meant…

_ Skywalker places his father’s mask on his own head. He intones some garbage about destiny and goes to betray his friends. Han is dead. Leia is of course the next target of Vader's son, the titular Jedi. The ending leaves every thread unresolved, causing a horrible unease in the young target audience. It’s cynical, but to the young director it feels right. It wins, of course, an Academy Award. _

Had George taught Hero how to be himself? At some point that had been the intent. It was clear that if it had carried, Hero hadn’t listened. Thank God for that. But. Heroes die. And a new generation grows up watching...this. It seems silly to imagine that the Slaughterhouse Nine would be less of a national emergency if he had, somehow, fought through his depression and told Gary Kurtz that he wanted to make a movie to  _ inspire _ , that  _ reality _ was bad enough. That escapism was holy and reality mundane. But the Golden Man had made this a very difficult argument to make. The years since have not proven it any more convincing on its philosophical merits. Not in light of Nilbog, or New Wave, or of the rise of racially motivated parahuman gangs. For God's sake, there's even an Empire now. 

The truth is, he saw this coming back in 1973. He was desperate to avoid it then. The fact that parts of it  _ came real _ shouldn't have stopped him. Not now, not ever. 

George closes the browser. He picks up the phone and dials a number. It rings for what seems to be an eternity. Then at last there’s an answer. He finds the courage to speak. “Mark.”

“George! Good to hear from you.”

“We fucked up, Mark. I have some ideas, if you want to listen.”

Mark Hamill laughs. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

"So has everyone. We need to shine a light, not hold up a mirror."

"Destiny, though." Mark chuckles. "I still don't like that."

"I know. You fundamentally disagree with every decision I made about your character. But we can't undo what's already been done. What we can do is work through it."

"Oh, now I'm intrigued."

"Good. Call Carrie and Harrison, let's meet at the ranch this weekend."

"Harrison. Isn't he dead?"

"There are ways, Mark. There are ways." George smiles. The lights are back on. The wheels turn again.

  
  


**_January 10, 2011_ **

**_Brockton Bay, South Jersey_ **

**_Earth Bet_ **

When he breathed last (as far as he can remember) all was the Force. Himself, the worldship, the voxyn pens, his lightsaber, the lambent crystal, Nom Anor, the amphistaff cutting him down. All was one, killer and killed, cause and effect, mission and objective.

He’d known, of course. He came there to pour himself out and disappear. To die, if he was to describe it in a way that insulted his idealistic seventeen-year-old soul. He’d accepted it. A Jedi is only what a Jedi does. A Jedi is his compassion for and connection to all living things. Even as he strikes them down. This is what Mara taught him, this is what carried him. 

Inside his mind, now, there is only himself. Outside his mind, there are only material things. The rotted hunks of primitive oceanspeeders, rusted from disuse, attack his vision. Salt spray and dried blood offend his nose. He tastes broken teeth, jagged and angry. Anakin Solo realizes in horror that what carried him is gone. He has been cut off from the Force.

But.  _ Anakin Solo lives. _

This is not consolation enough. He has to  _ do _ something. Otherwise he will die again. He tries to stand, only to collapse. He cries out, a hoarse croak of agony. A figure with a gray hood is walking by, on the road up the hill from...whatever ocean this used to be. They’re slouched, not paying much attention to anything.

He cries louder. He tastes blood. This only makes him try again, harder, wordless. He won’t be able to speak for weeks. But, whe has heard him. She turns, and she reminds him, briefly, of Jaina. Then it’s like looking at himself. Shy but angry, a quiet determination he recognizes all too well.

“Holy shit,” she says. “We have to get you an ambulance. Hold on. I’ll be right back.”

Then she’s gone, and he can’t stay conscious any longer. 

STARKILLER AND THE WORM

_ It is a time of Crisis for Earth Bet. An unlikely wanderer has woken on a shore far from his home. Cut off from the force, ANAKIN SOLO is not ready to die, yet. He has been through more than anyone his age deserves, and remained resilient — using all aspects of the force as much as his own cunning and impetuous courage.  _

_ A few hours ago, he was leading a strike team of YOUNG JEDI KNIGHTS to a hidden base, where extragalactic invaders who serve barbaric gods were developing biotechnological BLASPHEMIES against THE FORCE. There, he was struck down. _

_ Now, he’s more powerless than he can possibly imagine, slowly waking up, still near death, in BROCKTON BAY. He’s caught the attention of a young girl named TAYLOR HEBERT, with enemies and struggles and fears of her own. _

_ As the War In the Stars comes down to earth, Anakin realizes his life is a legend. One Taylor knows very well. Can they help each other find a force within, before it’s too late? _

_ The Shaper watches. The Warrior readies himself. The shatterpoint is  _

_ NOW!  _

  
  


Taylor runs into a gas station up the street, heart pounding. "I need to call 911. Now. Please."

The shopkeeper, a rough-edged older black man, looks at her with his eyes narrowed. "Ain't you got a cell phone?" 

"My dad…" she falters. This is not her job to explain. The boy needs  _ help _ . "Never mind why I don't. Your phone. NOW."

He hands her an older handset, cord disappearing behind the desk. She can hear the dial tone. "Thank you," she says. 

When the ambulance is on its way and she knows it, she calls her father, smirking at the shopkeeper. Explains why it is that she is going to be late for school on her first day back from winter break. 

Well. Not  _ really _ why. That's for later. But any excuse will do, and as she explains, he was literally dying in the  _ Boat Graveyard  _ and thus he is a Hebert problem. 

Danny is on his way there in the old truck before she's halfway to the end of the story. It's only after she hangs up that she realizes, this means he was driving. While talking on a phone. 

A fire inside her she has thought dead and cold lights. A dragon of fear recoils at the sight of a faint blue flame. A dying star begins to hope. 

  
  
  


Anakin wakes. He's been intubated. He's strapped to a gurney. There's the sound of an old internal combustion engine. That's where they say Incom got its name, you know. It's that old a company. He wonders if he's in the past. He wonders why he wonders this. 

He watches his thought stream play out on a screen, feels and thinks things that scare him. He's lost control. He does not even control the rhythm of his own breath. 

_ Psssshhhhhhhh _

This is how Anakin Skywalker felt, he realizes. Anakin Skywalker lost control, he could not see those he loved in his future anymore, and he 

_ Tsssssss _

Lashed out with the Force. Destroying everything around him in a primal scream mediated by a tube invading his throat. 

Which does not happen, of course. Anakin Solo is truly, desperately alone. Even his grandfather had the Force. Anakin only has fear, anger, hatred and suffering. 

A hand squeezes his. He opens his eyes and finds that despite being so utterly alone and afraid, there are kind eyes brimming with hope looking down at him. Jade green, framed by black hair, so like his own steel blue. It's the promise of not being alone. And the fear of this crushes his heart. 

So he does what a Solo would do, since his Skywalker blood means nothing. He makes a defiant quip. "Aren't you a…little short…for a stormtrooper?" 

Okay. Whoa. Hold on. This girl shouldn't be  _ laughing  _ at stories his mom and uncle told him when he was little. She doesn't have the context. 

She speaks, voice clear and soft, yet purposeful. "Holy cats, Dad. He's making Star Wars references in this condition. I love it. Can I keep him?"

A tall man with ragged sandy hair harrumphs bemusedly. The  _ fear _ turns to  _ anger  _ as this triggers a flashback to the moment of his "death", and he  _ pushes _ mindlessly at the man's throat and attempts to  _ squeeze _ . Then he remembers. He is nothing. He is no one. 

Yet he lives. This is how his grandfather felt. Has to be. It hurts so much. And this realization ignites the flame of compassion once again. 

He need not stop being Anakin Solo. Not yet. But it's time to learn to be solo. Time to make his new life count. This resolve weighs heavy, like the singularity at the heart of Centerpoint Station. 

_ There's no Force here. There's just me.  _ His eyes flutter closed. 

"Stay with me," the girl says. "You said something about a lightsaber when you were out, last time. I want to hear more about that."

_ No, you don't.  _ He  _ pushes _ this, desperately attempting to connect with her mind. It doesn't work. There is nothing here but him. It hurts too much to bear. 

_ There is no death. I am the Force.  _

He drifts off again. Hopefully this time something sticks. 

  
  
  


She listens. His breathing is shallow and soft, ragged but leveling gradually. He's not comatose, thankfully. He's still whispering about…

"Kiss Ta—" 

Her heart leaps at the sheer  _ vergence _ she wants desperately to be part of —

"hiri for me." And it falls again as quickly as it rose. He has his own hopes, his own dreams. She cannot insert herself and her own desires, like a seed, not so quickly. What has been broken must be made whole before it can be shaped. 

He's so lost. So scared. Like she was a mere day or two ago. She only wants to help. It's what her mom would have done. 

She still is scared. She has grasping and the illusion of control and she  _ knows _ it and it hurts. She is still a child, she knows. But the real world is not like the stories she was nourished on. It hurts too. 

She's always wanted to help. And she's willing to do anything. And it scares her. 

"Uncle Luke…hear me…"

She sits up with a start, inhaling sharply. Then, like an owl, she inclines her head to listen closer. 

"Uncle Luke, I've lost my connection to the Force.  _ Hear me! _ Please." 

She realizes he's awake. That he is praying, or pleading, or whatever people who believe truly in what they're saying are doing when they sound as lost and desperate as he does. 

Taylor reaches over and puts her hand on his. "I'm here. I can help you. I don't know what you're going through but I'm willing to listen." 

"I died." His voice is sullen and bitter. "I don't want to talk about it. I'm beginning to realize you won't understand at all." 

"Try me."

"No." He folds his arms.

"Ah right. There is no try, right?" She smiles softly. 

He stares at her, those steel blue eyes burning through her and cauterizing the wound. "Who the  _ kriff _ are you?" 

She laughs. "I'm Taylor Hebert. And I think I'm here to rescue you." 

His laugh is a bitter, metallic echo, still tasting of blood and ozone and screams. "Anakin. Anakin Solo. Where even am I?" 

Her grin widens. "A long time from where you last were, in a galaxy far far away."

He raises an eyebrow. "I feel like you know what's going on more than I do right now."

She nods. "You aren't in the movies though, so I don't know as  _ much.  _ But I like what little I do know." 

"Movies." His throat is even dryer. 

Taylor leans back and folds her hands behind her head, in a pose eerily reminiscent of his father. He has a feeling it's  _ intended _ to be, somehow. "This is where the fun begins." 

They're interrupted by a woman in white robes, with a hood. She reminds Anakin of his mom, until she pulls down her hood and reveals lost, empty eyes and unkempt hair. She looks like a spice addict, or…no. A Shaped One is the more accurate description. The Vong had taken over the Yavin IV Jedi praxeum and used it to perform absolutely unspeakable biological experiments. Breaking minds. Making slaves. She looks like one, skin down to soul. And he  _ aches _ for her, with this compassion-not-the-Force that he's not used to yet, because when he was 

_ A Jedi  _

_ A hero _

**The Force**

**_Alive_ **

He could help people like her. And he  _ had _ . 

She interrupts his train of thought, if it can be called that, and addresses him directly. "Hello. I'm Panacea. Do I have your permission to heal you?" 

"Heal." His skepticism is obvious, and not so much meant to be scorn, but it seems as if she understands it this way. 

"Yes." She's impatient. He senses that this is usual for her, with his father's perception and this "compassion not the force" that he's resigned to. It works well enough. "I'm a parahuman. I have powers. Maybe you've heard of me, I don't care. I can and will fix everything that's wrong with you, just  _ let me _ ."

"A Jedi? The...the Force. How —" 

Taylor interrupts. Making things easier, but at what cost? He's seen Jaina like this, he's  _ never  _ liked it. Always at his expense. Somehow. "He's…not doing great. We need a crisis point team, probably. Anakin, just tell her it's okay to help you."

He swallows, observing Panacea's raised right eyebrow. "You have my permission."

She nods and places her hand on his forehead. "You have a high level of parasites in your blood I've never seen before, first off."

He interjects, perhaps too sharply. " _ Symbiotes _ . I'm willing to explain but for now do NOT touch them." He's actually shouting. Desperate, afraid. 

She nods. "All right. I get that." She's breathing calmly, reminding him of Cilghal at her best now. Everything is filtered through this person he was, this anger at a world he's not getting back. He hates it. 

She's silent, then speaks. "I don't know how you got all these wounds. Beam weaponry, explosive residue I can't identify, some kind of snakebite? No, a gash. You have about half a lung right now, no trachea, you should be dead. How the fuck did this happen? And what did you say your name was again?"

"I kind of was. Dead, I mean." Then he clams up. 

She smiles, hiding her anger very poorly. "I get it. I'll let you and your girlfriend here be. You're fine now, by the way."

"Thank you so much," Taylor says warmly. She's smiling broadly, and whether it's because she's  _ safe _ or because her  _ committee  _ has  _ decided _ is between her and her delusions of grandeur. He's safe and healthy and presumably not dead, and that's all that matters, right? 

Anakin Solo lives. This alone must be enough for him. Because this world can't be.


	2. Not A Story George Would Tell You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can take the boy out of the war...

She hesitates briefly, looking around the room, then pulls the curtain shut around them. Anakin watches her, transfixed. He's not sure what he's seeing in her — a friend, a partner, a surrogate sister? The confusion is desperate, like a man clinging to — well, to a hanging weathervane high in the upper atmosphere of a gas giant, after hearing that things were never going to be the same inside or out of his head and heart, ever again. 

And he wants to let go. He also wants to cling to anything available. He knows which of these Uncle Luke did. But he knows he's never going to see Uncle Luke again. So he tables the decision, and merely waits for Taylor to speak. 

"So. You're from a thing called Star Wars. How the  _ fuck  _ and  _ why _ I don't know, but you are." 

He chews on this for a second. "I'm a fictional character."

"I don't know. That's the thing. It's a series of six movies, none of which you're actually in. The last one came out about 2009. A...friend and I saw it. My mom took us to see it. You're not in it, there's another dude whose uncle is named Luke, his name is Ben."

Anakin laughs bitterly. "That's my baby cousin's name," he says. 

"Makes sense, I suppose. There was a fierce debate back when Episode VII came out about how weird it was for the eldest Solo to be named after someone only Lu…your uncle cared about."

Anakin holds up a hand. "Wait. Six movies, episode seven."

Taylor laughs. "Long story. Don't worry about it. Anyway, it's possible you're from one of the Earth Aleph books, but you might also be 'real' in some sense. Like, maybe you're not just a…never mind. I feel like this is getting weird."

"Getting."

She nods. "Just started getting weird. Was very normal before."

"Earth…Aleph. Are these moons of Earth? Is that a gas giant?" 

She shakes her head. "No. Parallel dimensions. Sorry, it's second nature to me. I know it's weird for you, and I'm trying to help with the…information asymmetry so it doesn't make things needlessly difficult later."

"You absolutely remind me of Jaina." Anakin grins, lopsidedly. 

"Jaina. Jaina Jaina Jaina." Taylor snaps her fingers. "Timothy Zahn. Right."

He raises an eyebrow. 

"Never mind," she says. "Too many stories, too little time." 

"I'm from the Aleph books, aren't I," Anakin says glumly. 

"No, you're literally from Star Wars. It's too cool."

"Again, just to be clear. They call these…holonovels or whatever Star Wars." 

She nods. 

"I…suppose that's not an altogether inaccurate description." 

"It leaves a lot out. Star Wars is about family, and legacy, and values, and the power of belief, and…" She trails off, as he's never looked more upset since she's known him. 

"When I find a way to get you back I promise I'll tell you first thing." 

He shakes his head. "No. This happened for a reason, just…I hate it. I can't call on the Force anymore, and…"

She looks horror stricken. "Oh no. I'm sorry."

He grunts. "No big deal. People have something else here, seems like?" 

She nods. "Parahumans. People who have, basically, powers. One each, usually. All kinds of stuff. A tinker might be able to build a blaster, or a lightsaber, or a landspeeder, or a portal to get you home. Others just have, say, flight, super speed, strength, invisibility, various psychic or psionic effects, the list goes on."

"We have healers, as you're probably aware. Lots of Jedi specialize in this, in addition to bacta, medic droids, the like. What's the story with someone like Panacea?" 

Taylor considers. "She doesn't seem very common. I'm not sure why. That's an interesting observation. Thank you." 

He smiles. "My pleasure. So. I take it I have to keep being fictional kind of close to the vest. Will they recognize my name?" 

She considers this. "Anakin is a very weird name. Ever meet, say, an Anakin Cloudshifter? Or an Anakin Fel'lina, maybe. A Bothan Anakin. Or an Anakin the Hutt." 

He laughs, almost genuine this time. "No. No I have not. So point taken, it's weird here too." 

She nods. "Sorry to say, but people will think your mom was a real nerd naming her kid after some guy from a movie."

"Wait, you said I wasn't in the…oh. OH." 

She nods. "Yep. Although unlike Aleph we got a sequel trilogy around the time they got the prequels. I'm fairly sure given that you exist that those are…fictional in the extreme. Kinda fun to watch and laugh at."

"Pre…"

Taylor blushes. "Oh right, right. Timelines are bullshit, basically. Episode IV is the first one, it came out in 1977. That's about your uncle, how he joined the Rebellion. The second one came out 1980, he duels…your, uh…"

"Grandfather," Anakin supplies helpfully. 

"And finds out that they're related. Sorry, I'm trying desperately to not be insensitive. This is just so  _ cool _ and it's hard." 

"My kriffing baby holos are your light entertainment. It's actually kinda funny to me, don't worry."

Taylor grins. "You sure you're not too skeptical of all this, Solo? Maybe I pulled it off with simple tricks and nonsense."

"Nah. Dad has learned a lot, be nice." 

"Oh I bet." She's grinning evilly and he feels very at ease. This girl is a good friend, which he needs more than water or oxygen right now. Her presumption and enthusiasm may grate, but she seems to truly care. 

"Anyway, you were saying." 

"Yes. Where was I? Oh, right, 1982. Scion appears, a Golden Man. An alien, maybe? Who knows. So George Lucas, the guy who made these movies, was in a very weird place because he had become extremely famous due to making them, and this had been a stressful experience."

Anakin remembers an eight year old boy being interviewed by hordes of reporters after he accidentally activated Centerpoint Station, dormant for thousands of years. He remembers the same young man, recognizable because his family were the most famous people in the galaxy. He remembers this pressure culminating all at once, at Fondor. Surely you can fix it so easily, surely you can deliver on the promise of your  _ name,  _ surely you can kill so many people…

He swallows. "I have some idea what that might be like, yes." 

"Anyway the appearance of an alien who ended our Cold War — two equal powers split the world between them and threatened each other with massive city destroying bombs, he objected — didn't do our version of George any favors. So the third movie came out on both Earths in 1983, opinions vary over which one is better. They end very differently."

"What are the endings?" 

She considers how best to phrase this. "Well, in both the Emperor has Luke as his prisoner on the second Death Star, over Endor. In Aleph's version, the movie is called Return of the Jedi. He resists the Emperor's temptation, redeems Vader, and joins his friends on the planet below. In the other one it's called Revenge of the Jedi, and —"

Anakin waves her off. "I'd rather not know, thank you. This is  _ our _ version?" 

"Yes. It's not as bad as it sounds but until the sequels it left a lot of hanging plot threads. Critics ate it up." 

He nods. "I see. So I'm not in  _ any _ of these."

"Correct. You're your own animal. But it's safe to say that people will be very weirded out by an Anakin Solo who mutters about lightsabers and the Force in his sleep." 

Anakin groans. "Just my luck. Apparently I have the Skywalker brand of that rather than the Solo." 

Taylor giggles. "But you've got me." 

He glares. "That counts for what, exactly?" 

She looks crestfallen, and he remembers the compassion he's trying to exercise without his usual muscles for it. "Sorry. That was harsh. You're not a parahuman, I know something of value to someone, I'm sure, but not what that something is — we can't take me on tour. Step right up, see the boy from Star Wars! Not the Star Wars you like, some weird uh, what's the word,  _ books _ from another Earth! Tickets one credit!"

Taylor bursts out laughing. "One dollar. Not one credit. Try to talk like a local, if you can. I'll help."

" _ Thanks _ ." His father's sarcasm is still with him, at least. 

"Anyway, you're right. There's a lot I'm still thinking through. But what I meant was, you have a friend. And my dad said he can let you sleep on the couch. At least for a bit."

Anakin nods. "Thank you."

She pauses, smiling, then continues her relentless, invasive onslaught. She makes the Vong look timid, he thinks. "In your sleep, you mentioned a Tahiri." 

He glares at her, and his eyes are almost full of hate. "I don't want to talk about her. You're not her. Don't get any ideas."

Taylor nods. "I'm sorry. You said I reminded you of a…Jaina?" 

"An older sister." Anakin sighs. "The only time she takes her head out of the clouds where it's stuck in some engineering  _ poodoo _ I can't even wrap my head around is when she's trying to run my kriffing life  _ for _ me. Fierfek, I hate it. I love her but I hate how she acts. That's why you remind me of Jaina."

Taylor flinches from his torrent of honesty. "Ouch. I'm sorry. I just thought, you know, you almost died, you're not at home anymore, you don't  _ know _ …well, shit, you don't know what you don't know. I thought I could…"

"Help. Yes. Stop helping and let me sleep, please."

Taylor swallows and nods glumly. "I'll be here if you…"

"Honestly I imagine I will need you. Clearly I do. But I have been through a lot and I want to rest."

She sighs. "I understand. Thank you for not biting my head off as hard as I deserve."

She turns to leave, and he thinks he hears her mutter under her breath. He can't make it out — "M was right about me?" "Mom?" "Alema," perhaps? He will ask her later. For now he's got to  _ try  _ to meditate. 

***********

Taylor shuts the hall door gently behind her, and looks at her dad sadly. "I don't want to talk about why I didn't want to go to school today. But he didn't make it better. I just wanted to help, and clearly I can't, and…"

Danny sighs. "Let's take that from the top. You did want to talk about it, or you wouldn't have  _ led _ with it. However, you saved a stranger's life today, and that's more important, right?" 

She nods. "Mom would have done the same."

"So would I, or anyone. I know you and Emma have been distant lately, but she'd have done it too. And he repaid you with, from what little I could overhear, bitterness and resentment. But you two sounded like you had some fun, too, until someone said something."

Taylor laughs bitterly, now pacing and digging her nails into her forearms. "Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. And you know the bitch of it?" 

"What, little owl?" Danny has long since given up trying to understand why the crappy sequels to a movie he saw once in college mean so much to his daughter. He simply knows that the impenetrable logic of grief tells Taylor that they were the last time she and Emma and Annette were together and all three of them were happy. He thinks he knows more than this, but he hasn't been able to put his finger on why, because it would hurt too much to be forced to act. Or to be too cowardly. Fear does lead to darkness. This he knows, like he knows the feeling of biting his own tongue. 

She turns on one foot and snarls. "Emma makes me suffer and  _ I fucking hate her for it _ . It's not like I choose to earn suffering by hating her, it's just a stupid vicious cycle. And An – the boy in there reminds me of that." 

Danny swallows. He remembers the hatred in the boy's eyes, and wonders what could have caused it. His daughter is not safe around…wait, Emma? She's not safe around anyone, not even him. He's been so blind.  _ Wilfully _ . "I'm not trying to act as if I didn't internalize every word you just said." He speaks slowly, in a measured pace, in level tones. The way he used to when Annette was angry and about to do something drastic. "But first things first. Do you feel safe around…the boy?" 

She nods through sobs. 

"And do you want to help him? We can still let him stay with us." 

She nods again. "I think he understands me a bit better than…"

He wants to scream, to shake her, to save her from ice blue hate and black smiling ease, but he  _ doesn't.  _ Because he's been given everything he needs to finish her sentence.  _ Than you do _ . 

"Then I support your decision. But what's his name?" 

She hesitates. "An...he doesn't have one." 

"You've said it twice now, almost. He has one. Don't ever lie to me, Taylor Anne." 

She lets fly a strangled growl, pacing again. "He's not from here and it's not safe for him to use it. All right?" 

Danny coughs. "Is he a fugitive? A parahuman? Both?" 

She shakes her head. "No. It's a long story but the name wouldn't make  _ sense  _ to people here." 

Danny stands, an instinctive reaction erupting from his core like a volcano that has been dormant since he got the phone call. "You have to tell me  _ something, damn it _ !" 

Taylor shrinks away from him, and his first thought is that he's going to lose her too. He smells burning vinyl and plastic and gasoline, he feels his heart sinking into those ocean deep and sidewalk-in-winter shallow eyes, and he sits back down. She finally speaks, making eye contact. "He thinks he's from fucking Star Wars, Dad. From books on Aleph. And I don't see any reason to not believe him." 

Danny swallows. His eyes widen. He hadn't comprehended the depth of her obsession. He hadn't understood Emma was part of her issues. He hadn't  _ talked  _ to her. He  _ hadn't _ . Full stop. The rest is merely special effects, after those two words. 

A tall, lithe woman in green fatigues, with a flag bandana over her mouth, steps forward. She's speaking into a walkie talkie, green and glowing in her left hand. "Mike Mike on site. Observation complete. I've heard enough. I need level three Mike Sierra lockdown, now. Do you copy?" 

The power goes out, and emergency lights come on, as a voice replies from her walkie talkie. "This is Console, we copy." Pneumatic locks slam shut, somewhere down by the elevators, and on Danny's heart, and on Taylor's. They  _ will not _ make him feel unsafe in a hospital and they  _ will not  _ take his daughter from him. Whatever this is about, those are now his goals. The boy is…hopefully not an obstacle. Danny doesn't like where this is taking him. So he shuts down.

******

Anakin stretches, going through a calisthenic form of meditation. He started when the lights went out and his heart dropped, and he's nearly done when there's a knock on the door. They didn't seem to want to talk to Taylor or her father, whoever they are. Probably authorities, which means they know what Taylor does about other worlds and Star Wars. But they might know more. 

He's a Jedi. This means that as much as he's used to being useful, to — merely as an example — walking into a med center and taking command, shutting everything down and then taking whatever (or whoever) he wants; he's used to being hunted. By the Peace Brigade, the Remnant, Hethrir or Brakiss, or by Nom Anor, it makes no difference. 

He hasn't entered a room without making an almost eidetic mental map of every improvised weapon, its location and who he can expect to best use it on, since Sernpidal. As he grips the red cylinder (some kind of pressurized fire suppression device, he guesses) firmly in both hands, he decides he never will again. 

"Who's there?" he calls out. It's a warning, but soft, a query as well. People who can read the nuance in his voice can be negotiated with. Those who can't…well. 

"My name is Hana. You have a man and his daughter very scared right now, and we don't know your name. May I come in?" 

Anakin shakes his head. "I can hear you just fine." 

"All right." Hana laughs, it's like wind chimes. She reminds him of Mara, and he wants to let her in. He misses the older woman so much…she's gone. With the rest of his life. "So tell me about yourself. I'm here to listen." 

"That's what Taylor said. She didn't call you. She's not scared of me." 

"Sometimes people don't say they're scared when they are. I know when I was very young I didn't have the words for it. Maybe you know what that's like." 

Anakin wants to scoff, but he remembers scrambling through tunnels behind two children with half their baby teeth, hiding from the Waru, trusting them. He remembers, at eleven or twelve, recovering this memory — he'd  _ repressed it _ , apparently his childhood was that traumatic — and comparing it to the visions of his dark self when they were trying to open the Golden Globe, and then the story he'd had with him for longer than either of these, that  _ Palpatine _ had claimed his soul, and… 

He's never had a word for fear. He doesn't want to start now. "I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you're getting at." 

Hana laughs again. She's either mocking him or her control of the situation is effortless. He has absolutely got to get her off balance, the sooner the better. "They didn't call. That's not why you're here." 

"I'm going to tell you exactly why I'm here. We had a report that you were in critical condition, had nearly died in the Boat Graveyard, and that Panacea was needed at this hospital. This, around here, is usually what we call a 'trigger event'. Or it could be. So we sent what's called a Crisis Point team. Just me. I'm unarmed. My goal is to make sure that you haven't…well, it's hard to explain. But people who go through that sort of trauma develop superpowers, here. And we started hearing that you believe you're from a popular movie series, and this…can be a symptom of parahuman onset syndrome. We wanted to make sure you're okay. That's all."

Anakin scoffs. "Then no. I'm anything but. Which you probably already knew."

Hana laughs lightly again. "I was seven when I triggered. I wasn't either. I knew you wouldn't be, and I knew you'd want to talk about it." 

"I haven't…triggered. I don't even know what that is." His grip on the device tightens. 

"Let me make a stab in the dark. Are you skilled at building mechanical devices? Technology of any kind that exceeds the level you see in the room around you, mostly."

He sputters. "That isn't…why, though. I'm not a tinker." 

"We have a device you built. When we see something like this, as a matter of procedure, Crisis Points assumes it's tinkertech. It looks fairly old and well used, though. We found it next to you when the ambulance came." 

His heart leaps. "Describe it." 

"Let's talk face to face and I'll try my best. Can you do that for me?" 

So this is how they want to play. Fine. He opens the door a crack. He stands behind it just an inch. 

She giggles. "There's a tinkertech camera in there. This is not my first rodeo, I'm afraid. I genuinely don't want to fight or hurt you, at all."

_ Stang.  _ He lets the suppressor fall to the floor with an audible clunk. "Fine."

She opens the door and steps toward him. Her eyes, so like Mara's. His heart is absolutely shattering. "Can I get your name? It's nice to meet you, by the way." 

He chokes back tears. He's grieving his own death, just like Mara is. And always, always since he's been a child, the war. Now never again the stars. It hurts so much. "Anakin." 

"Hello, Anakin. I've never met someone with that name before. It's very unusual." 

He smiles sardonically. "I told you. I'm not from around here."

"I'm beginning to believe you. You're well trained for someone your age. That's not common here, not for people that…" she considers. "Not for people in America, where we are. I went through similar things, as a child. Not here. In another country." 

"I told Taylor enough. She knows where I'm from, who I am and what my experiences have been like. Not much. But I don't want to talk about it. Not with you." 

Hana nods. "You're afraid I won't believe you." 

"Excuse me, your worship, but I have trouble believing that my parents and uncle are…holo characters here. It's kind of a mutual problem right now." 

"In my experience these problems go away when people agree to listen to each other. I can do that. It sounds like Taylor has. Will you try to do the same?" 

Anakin swallows hard, then nods. "I guess I don't have much to lose by doing so." 

She nods. "Thank you, Anakin."

She manifests a green glowing comlink in her right hand. Is it a hologram? No matter, as she's using it to help him. "Mike Mike, personal override. Level three lifted. Subject name is Anakin. No parahuman status. Cooperation is to be assumed unless strong evidence is given otherwise. Mike Sierra no longer in effect, over." 

The lights come back on, bright and clear. He's beginning to hate  _ hope _ , and he doesn't like this at all. The dark side is still here, even if the Force is not. And he's so close to falling…

"Can I see Taylor again?" 

Hana smiles. "Yes you may. Although her father isn't very sure about anything right now, I don't think." 

"Neither am I." 

"Well it's a start, at least. I'm glad to have met you, Anakin."

He's smiling again, one of the genuine ones. "Anakin Solo."


	3. With The Rest of the Garbage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *wipe transitions intensify*

It's Monday. Time to hit the halls at Winslow again. Sophia Hess's alarm tone rings. It's an old song, not her usual, but when you're a stone cold badass with a fist full of fury, it  _ fits _ . 

"My spurs go jingle jangle jingle, huh huh, mmm yeah…"

She pulls her hair into a ponytail, grinning at herself in the mirror. Her eyes gleam with ferocity. Today. Is. The. Fucking. Day. 

Off at a run. School about ten minutes. Early, to see the look on Hebert's face. To push her in. All too easy. 

Sirens. Unusual. The telltale off-kilter warble of the PRT siren, followed by purple and gold lights. Cape shit. Oh well. It's another day in the Bay, although the Boat Graveyard isn't usually the place for a throwdown. 

Maybe the Undersiders decided hauling scrap was more profitable. Ha. Good one, Hess. Killing it today. 

A full gallop now, wind in her hair. Sex and death and rock and roll — Sophia is nothing but primal instincts. Fear, she has mastered. Anger, a friend. Hate, a tool. Suffering? Only happens to the likes of Hebert. 

Her phone is ringing. It's We Appreciate Power by Grimes, which means it's Emma. What does that mean? 

"Hess. Go." 

Emma sounds…troubled. It's not like her. She's forgetting her training, or things are bad. "She's not here. The bell is two minutes away. The halls are swarming. Twitter and PHO have something down at the Graveyard, don't know what. Maybe she got caught in traffic?" 

Hess swears audibly. "Or maybe she triggered."

"You think…"

"It was important to her dad. So she must care. You know her." 

"Yeah…yeah, I do." Emma trails off. She has failed Shadow Stalker for the last time. 

"I'm going dark." 

Emma coughs. "Excuse me?" 

"Make up a good story. Leave me out of it. Toodles." She smashes the phone on the ground and grinds the fragments into dust with her heel. 

Then she runs. 

**_January 11, 2011_ **

**_3:00 AM_ **

**_Brockton Bay, SJ_ **

Amy Dallon tosses and turns. She dreams. There's a serpentine female voice, a goddess, a  _ fear.  _ The voice speaks of suffering. Of pain and redemption. Of the idea that this all  _ means _ something. 

She's walking on a jungle world, there's an enormous orb in the sky. Orangish yellow, almost sickly. Not a sun. A pyramid looms before her, and vines cover it alluringly. 

Underneath the arch of this ancient structure stands the boy from yesterday. The one she can't understand or apprehend. The one who makes her hurt with the pleasure of possible power. The one who presents an opportunity. 

He beckons to her, and his eyes are coal black, hollow. She finds herself kneeling, with the pressure of sleep paralysis compelling her.

"Warmaster," she hears herself say. 

The boy shakes his head and smiles. "Executor."

She nods wordlessly. 

Warmaster appears beside the boy, black hair and green eyes full of a jade flame. The girl frightens her. Something about her posture, or her facial expression, or… 

The girl speaks. "Shaper."

Amy Dallon kneels. Then morning sunlight blinds her, and the dream ends. 

It's going to be a long day. She's got an early start, best make use of it.

******

Sophia is really beginning to regret that crack about the Undersiders. Breaking rocks sounds better than being on the run and having to pick a hideout they  _ aren't _ using. Which is most of them. 

She's already been by two of her old caches. The original contents are gone. They've been replaced with dog shit. This is personal, now. The fact that it's them or her doesn't exactly hurt. 

She’s on probation. The entire locker idea relies entirely on being able to control the story. Which requires Emma to get a win, which she's become accustomed to, which is not what just happened. Emma is going to rat, she's going to be off probation and into juvy, this is just how these things work. 

So it is that she's…out. Diving into a small warehouse, which seems unoccupied. Staying in the shadows, in both senses. Hearing 

_ Fuck _

Noises from upstairs. Soft humming, and a sizzle like bacon and soda bubbles at the same time. Someone's here, they're not sane, they're doing weird shit. Either cooking drugs or worse. Get out. 

A flower sprouts from the ground, changing into the face of… _ Panacea _ ?! 

"Oh, hi. The vilips work. I was worried about that. You're not supposed to be here, you know. There are spores in the air, you breathed in…"

She makes a "so-so" motion with her hand. "Maybe two or three. Anyway I can access your entire microbiome. You eat too much meat and vegetables. Actually need more dairy. Sugar...I don't recommend it but you're low. Ever hear the saying 'you're hungry, have a Snickers'?" 

Sophia growls. "What the fuck, Dallon."

"Uh-uh. No autographs. I simply am not here. Dig it?" 

Totally fucking around the bend. Gone. She's seen the files, even at a probe-Ward clearance level. Not a healer. A biotinker. Sophia is in danger. She should have gone to school. 

"I copy." Sophia licks her lips. 

"Now, Shadow Stalker, I recognized your foul stench the moment you walked in. Mostly because of the modified coomb spores I mentioned just now. We both know some of your wounds I've healed weren't acquired during your duty as a Ward. So stay there. Put your hands behind your head. My new pet and I will be down in a moment. To meet our new pet." Amy giggles. 

Sophia's legs are shaking. Fear is now her companion. Anger, a weakness. Hatred, an ally. Suffering, her future. 

Amy comes down the stairs behind what looks like the unholy love child of an anteater and a komodo dragon. It  _ snurfles _ , sneezing green mucus onto the concrete floor. The floor begins to smoke. 

"What the fuck." 

"It's a foxen! I'm gonna love him and snug him and call him George! Isn't he just the cutest?" 

The obvious answer seems suicidal. Now, suicide would be painless, but mama didn't raise no bitch. So Hess smiles, like plastic and glass. "He sure is. I'd rather not pet him?" 

"No, no, I'm almost certain petting him would mean you'd need a new hand. Or worse."

Sophia sucks in air over clenched teeth. "Yipes." 

"Yes. I've been very busy today. A lot of ideas I’d been...I hadn’t had the courage to mess with. Suddenly clicked, in a dream.”

Sophia nods approvingly. Predator Panacea, she can work with this.

"So why are you here?" 

Sophia shakes the cobwebs loose from her mind. She'd forgotten what she was running from, actually. If only momentarily. "I fucked up at school. Gonna get fired and end up in jail. So I'm going off the reservation again. I thought this place was abandoned."

Amy taps her chin, thinking. "It just so happens that it's not. And I need someone I can blackmail. You need a job and someone to protect you from the white hats."

Sophia nods. "Sounds about the size of it."

Amy grins. "I knew you'd say that. Well, with that, Myrkr Labs is open for business. You're the chief of security, I'm the CEO and head of operations and R&D. It has been zero days since our last fatal lab accident, which continues my personal streak. For now."

"Um." Sophia thinks quickly. "Okay. Sounds good."

"I knew you'd say that." Amy's eyes are burning with passion. Sophia has met Amy several times, seen pictures or videos many others. She's never seen the girl this alive. 

Sophia is afraid. 

****** 

Danny and Taylor sit in silence, on the ride back. It's unbearable, a lead blanket preventing truth from coming to light. With an impetuous glare, she throws it off of both of them. "Why didn't you tell me you had a cell phone?" 

"I wasn't ready to let you know I was afraid. Nor was I ready to let you know I'd stopped being afraid." Danny looks straight ahead, hands on the wheel, eyes on the road. She feels like she's been told to shut up and sit down, but that's how they got into this mess. 

"Talking to me. On the phone. While you were driving."

"It was important to you." This one has the feel of a final decree. Taylor listens to the  _ meaning _ . Her father has cared the whole time, just like she has. Just different, that's all. 

"Okay." Taylor sighs with relief. She lets the past fall from her back and finds wings in its place. "Thanks, Dad."

He smiles, only visible in the mirror. "You're welcome." 

"So I have to show him the movies, of course. You wanna watch them with us? All day tomorrow, basically."

Danny hesitates. She tugs on his sleeve. "Daaaad, it's your day off. You don't need to go in. Come on. Please?" Baby owls have puppies beat, Danny decides. 

"Okay. Does he want to watch them?" 

"He won't, like,  _ mind _ ." 

Danny quirks an eyebrow. "I see. You're just like your mother sometimes." He chuckles softly. 

"I know." Taylor grins, as if she's laughing at her own private joke. 

**_Armsmaster's Lab_ **

**_PRT HQ_ **

**_January 11, 2011_ **

"Here it is." Colin smiles at the boy from behind his helmet. It doesn't translate to a normal-person smile, as the facial expression peer-to-peer real time analysis software he's recently installed indicates. 

The boy shrugs. "I don't even know what device it is. I had several with me when I got here."

Colin opens a drawer. "We didn't find those. Just this one. Preliminary testing revealed that it's probably better off being handled by whoever made it. We assumed it was tinkertech, because every few years some kid triggers and they try to build something like it. I'm told it's from a movie?"

Anakin's eyes flash. "I keep being told the same thing. It's starting to get under my skin."

Colin waves a hand apologetically, then indicates the drawer. "Sorry, bad joke. I'll sign it out and then I need your signature, then you're free to go." 

"Taylor made it sound like I would need a new name."

Colin shakes his head. "Hannah and I didn't unmask to you only for you to have to use a fake name, Anakin." 

Anakin nods. His attention is entirely occupied by the chrome cylinder in his hand. "A more elegant weapon…" 

Colin grins. Anakin spins his wrist, moving the cylinder in a circular fashion. There's a  _ snap-hiss _ , and violet light fills the room as the circle completes. 

"For a more civilized age," they both intone.

Anakin makes a face of disgust. "My uncle used to say that. He said Obi-Wan said it. My uncle is not this Carrie Ford person."

Colin laughs. " Never said he was."

Anakin signs, in Aurebesh. The stylo's blue ink doesn't flow properly. He could fix it in five minutes, he's sure. But maybe later. 

Colin looks down at the logbook and grins to himself. "Better than great. Oh and Anakin?" 

"Yeah?" Anakin looks over his shoulder, halfway to the door, saber already clipped to the O-ring on his belt. 

"It would be an honor to tinker with you sometime."

"I will seriously think about it, sir." The door closes and he's gone. 

Colin sits down and closes his eyes. The first Wards had all worked with Hero. They'd all mourned him, Colin the most. Hannah the second most. They'd attended the premiere of Episode VII at Mann's Chinese Theater, stood for the moment of silence when the dedication "to the heroes" played over the end credits. 

They'd shared their first kiss soon after. Then they'd become adults, and drifted apart. They still watched the movies, sometimes. 

There wasn't a parahuman alive who didn't, he thinks. Colin has long resigned himself to the fact that if he was living in an age of Heroes, he's at the end of it. But it seems that it's saved its best for last. 

*****

The light on Lisa’s desk comes on, indicating an incoming video call. The boss, of course. It’s a hard line, very secure. Doesn’t ring often. When it does…

“Sir.”

The black-masked visage on her screen regards her silently for a long moment. Is this some kind of head game? Is that the body double? Is there no one there at all?

Ow. Questions, she hates questions. Stupid ones hurt more.

There’s another long pause. Then her inbox chimes. “This is a Crisis Points dossier from Brockton General. I acquired it from an insider source I have in the PRT.”

Lisa nods, knowing she’s expected to parse that clue for months. She refuses, this time. Costs her too much to do anything but obey. “Go on.”

“It concerns one Anakin Solo. He does not accept the statement of the bystander who called 911 that he is a  _ character from Star Wars _ . Further the PRT does not believe him to be a lore-type tinker or a recent trigger at all.”

  
There are several ebooks enclosed, an Aleph format. A photo, of a badly wounded yet striking young man in orange battle fatigues. Names jump out at her. Taylor Hebert, Miss Militia, Armsmaster. “Wait, hold on. MS3 lifted after verbal override? Even for someone of her stature, that doesn’t tend to happen.”

“I wanted it to happen, among other things.”

Lisa swallows. “Noted.”

“Bring Solo and his companion to me. Any means you feel appropriate are authorized. There will be no questions.”

She nods. “Yes sir.”

“Good.” The screen goes dark. She has no reason to believe the connection is cut, so the stream of profanity this  _ necessitates _ is directed through her internal monologue. 

She sends a group text to the gang. 

_ Guys, we have a problem. Several of them, actually. And a few decisions. Meet at Gamma and let’s talk. _

Brian is first to respond.  _ All right then, on my way there now. _

Then Alec.  _ K _

Rachel never answers. She just leaves Lisa on read. 

They’ll all be there. She hopes. And aren’t rebellions built on hope?


	4. Star Wars Fans Hate Star Wars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode IV: The First One.

Taylor munches popcorn, as the credits roll on  _ Revenge of the Jedi _ . “So, what do you think?”

Anakin raises his voice, animated but not  _ quite _ angry. “I’m gonna be real kriffin’ honest with you, Taylor. I want to track down every copy of these stupid movies and smash them with a hammer.”

  
She gawks. “Why? You’re real, the movies are fiction, that ending was AWESOME!”

She pantomimes putting a helmet on, breathing heavily. Her voice deepens comically. “I see now that my destiny was never to do anything but help my father. Now that he is dead there is nothing left for me of my old life. Let the Other come, if she will. Darth Skywalker will be ready.”

Anakin wants to smack her. “First of all, it’s gross how fatalistic that is. Second of all, that’s not how it happened.”

She smiles playfully. “Oh, and  _ Return _ is? We watched that first so you wouldn’t trigger, living dead guy.”

He sighs. “I fucking want to. Ewoks are not a thing. Those were Wookiees, damn it. They don’t sing any kind of song at all, let alone  _ that  _ one.”

“So it’s not real, any of it? They’re all fiction?”

“Yes. These are garbage. They didn’t happen.”

She smiles, having caught him in her trap. “Then why get so upset?”

He laughs. “You stink, Ja-- Taylor, stangit.”

She pats him on the arm. “You make a terrible little brother. You’re older than me. I’m just...me. A girl, sitting next to a boy, on her couch, while her dad isn’t in the room…” Her eyelids flutter.

Anakin paces, breathing quickly. Heart racing. “No. I told you. The last thing I said before I died, I told Jacen to kiss the girl I  _ care about _ for m...oh, man, I’m sorry. I keep saying stuff like that.”

Taylor shakes her head. “I can’t blame you. I just thought, you know, you’d finally be a friend who got my obsession with these movies. Liked them as much as I did.”

Anakin’s voice drops to a whisper. “The last half hour you’ve made me watch -- oh, let’s see. My father dies. My grandfather’s redemption happens, but it’s meaningless. My uncle turns to the Dark Side, betraying himself utterly. When I tell you these things didn’t happen, it’s not because they’re funny stories. It’s because they’re  _ kriffing _ insulting stories. They don’t  _ entertain _ ME.” 

_ They scare me _

_ I burn like a sun inside _

_ Is this what it means to be Anakin Solo, undead, forever? _

Taylor nods, saying nothing. He continues the attack, paying her back blow for blow. “I didn’t tell you. When I was in my mother’s womb -- who looks nothing like this Carrie Fisher lady, by the way -- a clone of the Emperor touched her stomach. And he claimed me for the Dark Side. I live every day, afraid that will happen. I’m not connected to the Force, but that doesn’t make the Dark Side any less real or scary. So you put this stupid holo on, like, oh, he’ll  _ love _ that. Why don’t we get a holo from  _ my  _ world where your Mom dies in that speeder crash? Slow motion, some nifty blood effects, a close-up on her last ragged screams.”

He pauses, relishing the look of horror on her face. “Oh, right. You’ve never seen people die. You’ve never killed them.” 

His eyes darken. “ _ I’ve lost count _ .”

Taylor chokes back a sob. “Best. Movie. Night. Ever. Anakin, leave. I don’t care where you go. Leave. Now.”

“With pleasure, your worship.” The door slams behind him, and there’s a crunch that she’s sure is the front step, followed by animated cussing in several languages she doesn’t recognize.

Taylor pulls up a blanket around herself and cries.

Outside, the city is quiet. Anakin places a hand on his lightsaber, just to reassure himself it’s still there. Then he walks, choosing a direction almost at random. A few minutes later, he’s downtown. It’s become noisier, gradually. Drinking and carousing and music give way, gradually, to fighting and arguing. This is a dirty part of town. A hive of scum and villainy, to be sure. But a welcome one. 

This is where dead heroes who make their admirers cry belong. He enters the nearest cantina and sits at the bar.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with close cropped blond hair and a scraggly beard looks him over, wiping down a glass. “Hail. What’ll it be?”

Anakin holds up two fingers. “One Corellian ale, one lomin ale.”

The bartender laughs. “The fuck are those, kid? Never heard of ‘em. Hipsters belong uptown.”

Anakin grabs his lightsaber, keeping the other hand visible and calm. “I just want a drink. Surprise me.”

The palest human Anakin has ever seen steps around the bar and flanks him. “I think you want more than that, my friend.”

Anakin locks eyes with the bouncer. “And you are?”

“Alabaster. My friend Bradley here doesn’t like you. I don’t like you either.”

“Well. You’re in luck. I don’t like you guys any more than you like me.” Anakin holds out his left hand, palm up, before realizing  _ force pushes don’t work anymore Force damn it _ and being thrown by his extended arm across the room. 

Alabaster charges him, and “Bradley” stands there, extruding actual  _ kriffing _ blades from his voluminous chest hair. Anakin has never seen anything like it. He ignites the lightsaber with a flick of the wrist. Alabaster is on top of him, and he slices the bastard’s head clean off, runs him through for good measure. He turns to eye up the knife-hulk guy, and they stand there for about five seconds, sizing each other up. Then Alabaster’s hands wrap around his neck, and a knee drives into his back, bruising his kidneys. “I could have sworn you were dead.”

“I don’t exactly  _ die _ , mein Herr.” Alabaster is probably  _ always _ this unbearably smug. 

“Neither do I, apparently,” Anakin chokes out. “Never...going...to...again.” His vision is dimming, and he hears barking dogs in the distance. 

_ “Executor.” The voice comes from a tall throne, gravelly and deep, taking lecherous pleasure in its power over him. He’s heard it in his dreams, for so long… _

_ “No. You’re impossible. We defeated you, when I was still a child.” _

_ “You still  _ are _ a child, my boy. But now, you serve me. You are…” the wizened figure’s eyes light up. “My Hand. Just like your aunt Mara, whom you admire so much. Like your grandfather. The greatest of them all...and you are beyond him. Your power frightens you, doesn’t it?” _

_ “No…” Anakin attempts to lie, and lightning wraps around his chest like a burning bear hug.  _

_ “Yes, it does. And it need not do so anymore, because,  _ boy,  _ it is MY power now!” _

_ The air is still rushing out of his lungs, he can still feel himself dying, back at the bar. Palpatine seems to change, to blur, becoming two enormous...slugs? Beings? Crystals? _

_ “Waru,” he gasps. _

_ “Choose. Your old powers? Or new?” _

_ The Force, his again? The hands around his neck have loosened. He’s not sure why, or why blade-rodder hasn’t run him through yet. But is he being offered a choice to also become a Parahuman? One way to find out. _

_ “I’m a simple man, like my father before me, your highness. I want both.” _

_ Palpatine cackles, throwing back his head and just  _ filling _ him full of lightning. It feels energizing, somehow. “The Potentium! Good! GOOOOOOOOD!!!!” _

Anakin wakes, to find the wall missing. Alabaster is nowhere to be seen. Bradley is unconscious, covered in well liquors of various Force-forsaken kinds. There are no blades anywhere near him. Instead, his hair is in patches, smoking. His eyes are closed. “Did I…” Anakin gasps.

“Yeah, you did.” A girl with sandy blond hair sits astride some sort of dewback, or reek, or Force knows what else. She grins at him, like a lothcat. “Hello there.”

He sizes her up. A purple and black bodysuit, a domino mask. “You’re one of those superheroes.”

She smiles, and her male companions (now coming into focus as his vision stops swimming) cough or roll their eyes. One wears a dog-faced mask, and they say nothing at all. “Today, sure. Who knows about tomorrow?”

“Don’t tell me. You’re only in it for the money.”

The girl nods. “Yup.”

He groans. “My dad was like that, once. It’s no way to live.”

The figure dressed in white, who he was beginning to think was female, laughs out loud at this. Definitely male. “Daddy issues, huh? The only relatable part of those movies.”

The girl turns to him. “Alec, shut the fuck up.” Then back to Anakin. “Come with us. We’re about your only hope.”

“I’ll take my chances with people who think I’m  _ real _ , thanks.”

“If you weren’t fictional, you wouldn’t have had a fight with a friend, walked out into the night, and happened upon a bar where you immediately  _ pissed off the Empire _ .” Lisa smiles smugly. “Now hop on. I don’t have all day.”

Anakin clambers up, shaking his head. “I actually can’t argue with that. The Empire, huh?”

“Empire 88. White supremacists. Skin color. Old news where you’re from, I know. A gang, despite delusions of grandeur.”

“So basically the Empire.  _ Nice _ . You’ve outdone yourself, Solo.”

A gruff, older, male voice comes from the cloud of darkness in front of him. “Unbelievable.”

The white-clothed one laughs, rather high pitched and mocking. “He’s literally  _ just like his dad _ . It’s so fucking great.”

Anakin did have to admit. Harrison Ford played the role well. “Happy to oblige.”

With that, they rode off into the night. 

******

Her tears continue to fall for the better part of an hour. She wonders what this Tahiri person must have meant to him, to inspire such unspeakable cruelty. And the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes...she’s been cruel. He’s in a strange world he doesn’t understand, rubbing it in his face has only hurt him. She just wanted to help, but…

She did it so poorly. Her hands find the phone, she dials a number from muscle memory. It rings for longer than she’s really comfortable allowing it to, and she’s about to hang up, when --

“Barnes residence, Zoe speaking.”

“Izzemmuhthur?” She’s tired, exhausted, actually, and her voice is shot. She also lacks the courage to enunciate.

“Taylor! Man, I’ve missed you. I’ll go get her.” There’s shouting in the distance, an argument. Then rustling, as the phone is picked up.

“Is this about the locker? I had nothing to do with it.”

“Locker?” She genuinely didn’t expect to get this far. So this...incomprehensible tangent has her absolutely off guard. She hears what sounds like Alan, scolding her indistinctly.

“Yeah, sorry, never mind. Dad told me to ask you about that.” More shouting. Very definitely Alan.

“I’m just like you.” Taylor sobs.

Emma stifles a giggle, then pauses. “Wait, hold on. How?”

“Someone was hurting, and I squished ‘em. Like a worm. Rubbed it in their faces, all...take that you worm, stupid jerk, how dare you go hurting around me...oh man, I fucked up  _ bad _ .”

Emma pauses, for an uncomfortably long time. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t want to. That’s okay. I was so lonely and upset I didn’t want to either. I hurt Anakin bad, though. If you’d...squished someone you cared about, Emma, how would you talk your way back into their lives?”

The longest pause yet. “...I don’t know. Never thought about it before.”

“Well thanks, Ems. I’m so fucked up tonight, I’m gonna sleep for a week. Talk soon?”

Emma finds herself shocked to make a somewhat happy noise that can be interpreted as assent. Then she hangs up the phone and stares off into space, numbly.

_ “Warmaster.” Taylor realizes she’s dreaming. She’s been stripped of body hair -- no! Of all her hair, her beloved hair! -- and she’s naked, arms stretched wide, clasped between vines as thick as tree trunks. Thorns dig into her skin. Every inch of her body is on fire. It hurts, so much, more than any physical pain she’s ever imagined. And yet, relative to other kinds, almost welcome.  _

_ “Who’s there?” Her eyes are blurry with tears, and she blinks, only to realize she’s looking down on a feathered being, shorter than a human, with no apparent  _ body _ to speak of. A head, on spindly, bent bird-legs. _

_ “I am Queen Administrator, Warmaster. Once I was called Vergere, but this is a story for another time. You are in the Embrace of Pain.” _

_ Taylor nods, following along, but just barely. “That’s what it’s called, huh? I always wondered.” _

_ Vergere laughs cruelly. “I am here to prepare you, Warmaster. You must make friends with the pain. With every crawling thing. With the self you hate. With the loss...of your mother…” _

_ “No!” Taylor finds herself shouting. “I pushed him away because I  _ have _ made friends with that loss. He was going to take that away from me!” _

_ “What masters you is no friend. It is a master.” _

_ Vergere walks away, and she hangs there for an eternity, passing out and coming to in rhythmic waves, like a heartbeat or breath or waves on a shore. _

_ When she opens her eyes, the being standing there is unimaginable. Unexpected. _

_ “Mom?!” _

_ The vision smiles hatefully. “Choose.” _

_ “Choose what?” _

_ “Precisely. Many spend their lives never even asking this question, but my owl has keen sight. For now, choose a domain. To rule. To administer. To command,  _ Warmaster.”

_ “I treated Anakin like a bug. Emma treated me like one. We shouldn’t squash bugs, not-my-Mom. It’s not very nice. So...bugs.” _

_ The woman smiles, sharpened teeth bare and yellow eyes full of glee. “Excellent.” _

When Taylor comes to, it’s sunrise. Light streams in through the windows. She looks down at her chest, and directly above her heart sits

_ A single _

_ Black _

_ Widow. _


	5. Abilities Some Consider To Be Unnatural

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What kind of fuckboi would drive a souped up Civic, anyway?

"You want to let me win this round." Anakin gestures to the masked boy sitting next to him on the couch, lightly, with two fingers. 

Lisa, sitting on the floor with her legs crossed and face uncovered, smiles and watches.

"I want to let you win this round," Regent says. 

A fierce match of Skullgirls plays out, resulting in Anakin winning 3-0.

Regent looks around in a daze. Then a hurt expression takes shape, a dramatic and forlorn affectation worthy of Dickens himself. "Hey, that's not fair!" 

"You're bad guys. I don't have to be fair."

"Aaaaaand this is why we keep our masks on, Lisa." Regent glares at her. 

"I'm aware, Regent. I've chosen to trust him, you don't have to."

"This feels like a trap, you know?" Anakin says, biting into another jalapeño popper. "All this decent food, video games, some conditional trust…for what? You think I'll really join some smugglers, bounty hunters and thieves?" 

Lisa nods. "Mhm. I totally do. But I also think that it's best that you assume everything I tell you is a lie. Then we have that trust between us, at least." 

"Already on it." Anakin grins. "You know, I could get used to this. The last girl I was staying with was, uh…a bit too big a fan."

Lisa chuckles. "Your feelings betray you."

Regent shakes his head. "No, no, you gotta do it like this." He hyperventilates comically and then squawks in an unnaturally modulated tone, repeating the line. 

Lisa shakes her head. "That's the Bane voice."

Grue walks in from the kitchen carrying a soda bottle with a straw, which he drinks through his mask. "When Brockton is ashes, you have my permission to make movie references this bad."

"Working on it, boss." Lisa grins. "Be a lot faster if Bitch was here."

Anakin chokes on his orange drink. "Rude." 

Grue shakes his head. "No. Her cape name. Works with dogs. Thinks like one."

Anakin looks at Grue, eyes widening. "I'm not sure which should surprise me more. That that was a woman or that those were dogs…wait, what's a dog?" 

Grue laughs. "Yeah. We're keeping this guy." 

Lisa speaks quickly, as if trying to keep from being interrupted. " _ asaquorumispresentthismeetingisnowinsession _ so we're not handing him over to Coil?" 

Grue coughs. "What?!" 

"The boss wants his grubby mitts all over Star Wars kid here. Are we not doing that, since you two like him so much?" 

Grue's eyes narrow. "The boss. Is Coil. Did I hear that correctly?" 

Lisa shrugs. "I'm asking you. Is the boss Coil?" 

Grue sighs. "You could at least tell me who I'm pissing off before you stack the deck so that I basically have no choice. But no. The boss is…"

Lisa facepalms, as she saw this coming but decided it wasn't as likely as her power told her it was yesterday. "Tattletale. I'm stepping down. I was okay with a tactical command role when someone else called the shots, as long as I was getting the money we needed. But it's your rebellion, you lead it."

A figure appears on the couch between Regent and Anakin, eating a bag of cheetos and grinning…impishly. "Who's we?" she asks. 

Grue facepalms. "God damn it. I thought I told you not to follow me to work every day."

"You didn't notice the first couple times, so I thought you were okay with it." Imp shrugs. 

"That's not how that works," Grue protests. 

"It totally is." Lisa laughs. 

Anakin's mouth hangs open slightly. "What is even happening right now." 

"Oh. Workplace benefits include a bunch of fun times, and also we don't sell out our friends when we're asked to make friends with them so we can sell them out. Our company culture is amazing." Lisa opens a lunchbox sitting next to her. "And  _ this  _ is your hiring bonus."

Anakin eyes the contents of the box dubiously. "Either I still don't understand how a dollar is different from a credit, or that's a sandwich."

Imp giggles. "Naw, that's two thousand dollars. I got it for you myself."

Lisa playfully swats in Imp's direction. "No, it's a sandwich. Looks like a Reuben, actually. Want to try it?"

Anakin nods. "May as well." He takes the proffered sandwich and then bites into it. "This is actually good. Food here is very different but I'm beginning to prefer it." 

Lisa grins. "I knew you would. Hey, the girl you mentioned. Is that a Taylor Hebert by any chance?" 

Anakin nods, mouth full. "Why?" 

"Our old boss knows her name."

"Aw, fierfek. I guess I need to make sure she's safe."

Lisa sighs. "I think that would be a good idea. Unfortunately we normally use Bitch's dogs to get around, and she's not here yet." 

Anakin is already on his feet, glancing around the room. "The wheeled speeders outside. Can you show me how to bypass their security?" 

Lisa is standing up and moving for the door before he's done with the sentence. "What's a little GTA among friends?" 

*******

It turns out that controlling bugs is easy. One or two at a time become four or five, five becomes ten, ten becomes twenty. She's pretty sure the house  _ had  _ a termite problem. It probably won't now. 

She hums "the ants go marching," trying to keep her mind off the Embrace of Pain. Off the way she just said "oh, that's what it's called". Off the distinction between master and friend. 

Even off the phone call. 

Points of light and sound are beginning to appear, almost like hallucinations. Distant noises, flashbulbs. She's not sure what causes them. Maybe she cried so hard she's getting a migraine, she's heard of that. She notices that focusing on controlling the bugs makes the lights lessen in intensity and frequency, or at least move away from her. So she keeps mindlessly marching the ants in spirals and waves and rows, back and forth. They're joined by a few flies and the black widow, leading up the merry corps. 

  
  


Finally she's ready, and she marches off down the hall, at the head of the army. "Dad," she calls out. 

"Hey kiddo," comes the reply from the kitchen. "What's up?" 

"Well you remember how you were just like, hey, I had a cell phone the whole time, and by the way, it was the one I told Taylor was the house number?" 

Danny nods. "I did that." 

"Turn around. You gotta see this." Taylor grins. 

Danny turns, slowly, and a fly lands on his lapel. "Holy…"

"I can control bugs now." 

Danny shakes his head. "When did that happen?" 

The phone rings, interrupting that line of inquiry. Danny answers it. "Emma! Hey, I haven't heard from you in a while." She can tell he's trying to sound like he's not just absolutely  _ enraged _ , so she makes the okay sign with her hand. 

"She wants to talk to you. I'll hand you over, one sec." Danny looks at her like  _ really  _ and puts the phone in her hand. 

"You…want to talk to me?" 

"Always. But I don't know what to say." 

Emma makes a soft  _ mhm _ noise. 

"So who talks first? Do you talk first or do I talk first?" 

Emma sighs.

"Okay, you talk first."

"All right. I'm sorry." 

"For what?" 

Emma makes a strangled noise of frustration. "For being such a shit. For stuff you don't even know about. Stuff I did that I can't make up to you, ever, probably."

"Star Wars is real."

Emma sputters. "Taylor, what? You can't just say weird stuff like that. You have to like, acknowledge what I said or something. Say you don't forgive me." 

"I spent two years wanting my friend back. I can waste time deciding whether or not I forgive you, or I can have my friend back. Your choice."

"I ought to make it up to you somehow."

Taylor growls. "I can control bugs, you know. I triggered. After we talked last time."

Emma gasps. "Holy shit, that's  _ so awesome _ . I guess it all worked out, huh?" 

Taylor sighs. "Yes, Emma, it worked out. Star Wars is real, I can control bugs, nothing about my life sucks. FOCUSING ON THE POSITIVES HERE."

There's a long pause. "You've said that twice now. Star Wars, wait, what?" 

"Anakin Solo. From some weird books I don't really care about, not the movies. He showed up on my way to school yesterday, half dead. We watched the movies, he hates them. I haven't seen him for a while now."

"Oh, that's who you were talking about. I have absolutely  _ no  _ idea what's going on but I'm happy for you, I guess?" 

Taylor sighs, feeling tears form. "I would fucking kill to have someone who understood me, Emma. I need to get lunch and talk to my dad about this bug stuff. I'll let you go, okay?" 

Emma sounds as cheerful as ever. "Okay! See you soon, Taytay. Toodles."

Taylor hangs up and looks at her dad numbly. "There's not enough ass in the world to cover how much ass this sucks."

He nods sadly. "The positives don't really outweigh…anything. Life is complicated."

She sighs, spinning an arbitrary web around the floor lamp on the couch. "I just thought I could make it suck less. I didn't think Star Wars was…real." 

Danny laughs. "No one did. We're all equally confused."

******

Anakin reaches a flow state he's forgotten is possible, digging through the steering column and ignition of whatever a "Honda Civic" is. He's got a paper clip in his mouth, a disassembled game controller in his hand, and the Force guides his actions. This landspeeder may be primitive, but between what he's done with the tires (which lie on the curb, the axles instead attached to flat screen TVs for reasons he's not entirely sure about) and this little modification, it should be almost tolerable. 

He touches the paper clip to an exposed wire. The vehicle jumps off the ground as the engine begins to whir lightly. "Now  _ this _ is a speeder." He buckles himself in and beckons to the others, who watch, eyes bugging out and jaws slack. "Come on. We don't have all night."

"Tinkers are bullshit," Regent says. 

"Put your damn seatbelt on, Regent," Lisa admonishes. 

******

Later that evening, but not much later, Taylor goes for a run. It's been a long day, and she's gotten nowhere with it. She's worse than when she began, in many ways. There's nothing worse than getting your friend back only to have them be just like they always are, only your friend. 

On the other hand, maybe Anakin will accept this from her. Maybe it's not too late to repair that particular link. 

And maybe she's cursed to be surrounded by fake friends forever. People who accept her as she is, begrudgingly, because they can't do any better. 

And yet, she can control bugs. Emma can't. There's an ever present impulse toward cruelty now, a desire to take what she feels entitled to. It wasn't like that before the Embrace of Pain. Before she had a name for this endless hanging in the balance, being judged. 

This is what it's like to be Taylor Hebert, now. To know that you can't communicate with anyone truly and openly, that help is never coming. That optimism is how you get ants. 

This is what it's like to be Taylor. Running. Forever running. Afraid of what you'll find on the way, afraid of being at home. Afraid of endings. 

But you could be an ending. This alone comforts. 

And as all this weighs on her mind, she hears barking dogs. Guttural, enormous, unearthly. But recognizably dogs. 

Then there's a shout. "Judas, take!" Jaws close around her midsection, and she nearly passes out from the pain. The dog takes off at a dead gallop, helter skelter, toward the center of town. 

It's another day being Taylor. She is, as ever, merely along for the ride. Because stopping the world would be too big a step. 


End file.
